


Phoebe Buffay, Zombie Hunter

by Leni



Category: Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the supernatural were only... natural?</p>
<p>If there's any actual resemblance to the Anita Blake series, it's unintended. I haven't read the books yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoebe Buffay, Zombie Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hobnailedboots at [Comment Fic Community](http://comment_fic.livejournal.com/info).

Phoebe looked between her friends, who were looking at anything in the room except her sodden clothes, her bare feet, or her chalk-white face. "Guys!" she protested, dismayed when the word came out as a whimper between her chattering teeth.

"Pheebs." Joey was the first to come forward, taking off his jacket as he moved. "You need to warm up, okay?" He talked slowly, like when he was practicing his lines at the last minute and was unsure about the order of the words. "There," he said, wrapping the dry garment around her shoulders. "Isn't that better?"

Her sniffling nod seemed to be a sign for the other four; they looked at each other, and in that silent way of people who knew each other too well, moved to fulfill their roles. Rachel came to her other side, muttering calming nonsense as she and Joey guided her to the couch. Monica rushed into her bathroom and brought out a towel in each hand. Phoebe couldn't help but be touched by the gesture; they were the good towels - the thick, warm ones that Monica saved for her parents and Richard. Ross and Chandler marched outside to dispose of the bodies and any other evidence. They would take care of cleaning the cab and the weapons hidden in it later.

"I-I didn't m-mean to," Phoebe repeated for what felt like the hundredth time since she'd let herself into Monica and Rachel's apartment, soaked in rainwater... and blood.

"Of course you didn't, honey," Rachel crooned, taking one of the towels and rubbing her hair with it. 

Monica looked stricken by the mess they were making in her living room, but after another quick trip to collect some sheets plus a few seconds of placing them between Phoebe's body and her precious upholstery, her breathing eased considerably. "How many?" she asked, her brusque tone helping Phoebe out of her misery.

"One dark soul. Three victims." She frowned. "One escaped. I think." She tried to remember the fight, and yes, _yes_ , a slighter form had scurried out of the scene while the hellspawn was distracted fighting Phoebe off. "A woman, I think."

Joey nodded. "I'll take care of her." Nobody like a handsome, currently unemployed actor to track down a potential damsel in distress. And if the poor woman had been bitten during the struggle, well, Joey would deal with that, too.

"I ruined your night," Phoebe lamented, having glimpsed the table set for six before she'd broken into sobs. "I did it again!"

"Hush," Monica quieted her, a hand on her shoulder. "We knew what we were getting into."

"I didn't," Rachel muttered. At Monica's glare, the blonde sulked, "Well, I didn't. I was just escaping from a horrible marriage." She never stopped drying Phoebe's hair, though, her movements slow and tender so as not to upset any of the bruises. Rachel may not have appreciated discovering the kind of circle she'd tripped into that day at the Central Perk, but by the time she realized Phoebe's eccentricity was only a cover, she had already been too involved to leave. "Besides," Rachel continued in a lighter timbre, "zombies and ghouls are still a better fate than becoming Mrs. Barry Farber!"

The comment had the desired effect, and Phoebe let out a giggle at her friend's earnestness. After the mess around Barry's wedding, he should consider himself lucky that Rachel hadn't summoned a succubus and sent it to drain his strength. They had not been as lucky when Ross cheated (or went on a break without Rachel's permission, Phoebe could never tell which version was true), but that was water under the bridge - or so they both claimed.

The month before peace returned among them had been a tense one. It had been unthinkable that either of them walked away, as Rachel's newfound affinity with magic and Ross's easy access to ancient texts in any museum was invaluable, so instead of the friendly chatter and harmony, the atmosphere had been comprised of snippy, double-meaning filled comments between the two ex-lovers. To top things off, a row of small fires had almost wrecked Joey and Chandler's apartment, as the latter's control of his pyro powers snapped under the pressure. Poor Chandler had needed to resort to chain-smoking to keep the flame inside under some semblance of control.

Phoebe had never been more thankful to the dark arts until one of its masters broke the fragile balance between her friends. The necromancer's attempt to turn New York into a hell dimension - a literal one - had forced Ross and Rachel back into speaking terms, and an hour after the evil wizard was obliterated, the couple had locked themselves in Ross's place and didn't come out until three days later.

Phoebe had a feeling it wouldn't last, but at the same time they were the most lobster-like pair she'd ever seen. Sometimes she was tempted to ask Monica, whose gift for premonition had first clued Phoebe into the fact that she wasn't alone despite her inhuman abilities, but it wouldn't be fair to ask her friend to abuse her power and glimpse into her own brother's future. 

Monica had suffered enough because of her premonitions, having sensed the death of neighbors and school mates all through childhood and adolescence with no idea of how to manage her visions; her attempts to bury them under 'normal' problems (a strained relationship with her parents, jealousy of her older brother, obesity) bringing more trouble than help. 

How Monica had broken off that cycle, she wouldn't share. Phoebe had her suspicions, as she remembered rumors of a powerful coven passing through the West Coast around the time Monica had discovered that absolute control over every aspect of her life kept the worst of her gift at bay.

Not that Monica acknowledged or denied any of her theories. Phoebe had the feeling that, were it not for Ross's presence in town, Monica would be glad to never mention her life before she moved to NYC for good.

As she always said, the smart option was to make the best of the present and leave the past behind - and if Monica took her motto a little too far sometimes (really, who cared whether dinner was not at a perfect temperature, or the wall had a small greasy hand print?), Phoebe had learned to apply it to her own life.

"I think I need to change my clothes," she said, starting to feel the cold seeping through her flesh and into her bones.

Joey helped her stand. "I'll help."

"Joe!" Rachel cried.

Phoebe and Joey exchanged a look, hers a little more pointed, and then he laughed as if they were the fools for buying into his joke. "All right, all right." He stepped back, allowing Monica and Rachel to position themselves at Phoebe's side. He was such a dear; he'd done her favors that their friends wouldn't imagine, from helping her bathe after an especially rough night to digging up graves and harvesting the hearts she needed to prepare a more effective venom. 

Joey had grown up listening to his Nana's stories, stories filled with magical folk of the old world, sometimes curious and playful creatures but mostly wicked and vengeful. After Phoebe had moved in with Monica, all those years ago, it hadn't taken him long to figure out that her strange jewelry was actually an array of protective charms, and that her disappearances coincided with some grisly body discovered in the nearby neighborhoods.

They'd had a good laugh after he'd shoved a cross at her face and doused her in a bucket of holy water.

In Phoebe's opinion, it was no wonder that Joey crashed so badly at every casting when his performance as careless, goofy Joey Tribbiani was impeccable. All his talent had to be entirely focused on keeping up the pretense of normalcy.

"Can you walk?" Monica asked, bringing her back to the present.

She nodded. "Thank you," she told them.

In moments like this, Phoebe knew that she didn't thank them enough. All of them had led perfectly normal lives until they met her; even those who'd had an inkling of the darker world hiding under the façade of human life had never become involved in it.

Enter the Buffay twins' curse - though, of course, Ursula had never lifted a finger except to run in the other direction - and Phoebe's best friends might as well have painted a bull's eye on their backs.

"Hey!" Rachel scolded, wiping off the tear that had escaped. "None of that, Pheebs. We love you, you love us. The undead doesn't get a say."

At that, Phoebe could do nothing but nod.

"Your dress is a loss, though," Rachel said next, wrinkling her nose at the discarded garment.

With an even more appalled expression, Monica lifted the piece by one of the few corners unmarred by blood or mud and stuck it into a garbage bag. Once the boys returned, Chandler would take care of reducing the evidence to ashes.

Phoebe accepted the change of clothes Rachel offered, glad that her friend's job perks included a discount in retail. "Thank you," she repeated before lying out on the bed, the events of the evening finally catching up with her. She was getting tired of seeing so many people die, and was sick of how many 'survived' the attack and forced her to kill them anyway. "I hope that lady will be all right."

Monica eyed her, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. "I think she will," she said, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Phoebe nodded thankfully and reached for the nightstand drawer. Rachel opened it first, taking out a handful of Tylenol and giving them to their friend, who dry-swallowed them.

"It's over, then. Slumber party?" Phoebe said, summoning her trademark enthusiasm, and patted the space at her sides.

Rachel and Monica sat down, so tired that they leaned back to lie beside her. The three of them stayed like that for a long moment, enjoying the silence until -

"Hey, guys?" 

The door slammed open, and Joey's eager smile preceded his next words. Phoebe didn't need to look at her friends to know that they'd guessed the same thing: only one thing put that expression on Joey's face. 

"You don't mind if I eat my dinner early, do you?" Joey rubbed his stomach and gave them a doleful expression, as if he'd gone hungry for three days instead of three hours. "I'll need my energy to find our lost survivor, after all. A woman, you said." He straightened, hooked his thumbs at his belt hoops, and winked at Phoebe. "Was she pretty?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Pretty, who knows. Terrified, totally."

Joey's interest vanished. "Right." In the next second, his features morphed back into a pleading expression. No, there was nothing wrong with his acting skills. "What about dinner?" When Monica took a second too long to answer, Joey shrugged and came forward, nudging at Rachel to make space for him on the bed.

It was a tight fit, but they'd squeezed together for longer amounts of time when they piled in the cab and headed off to some suspect area. A queen-sized bed was no challenge for only four of them.

"We'll wait for Chandler and Ross," Phoebe decided. The girls gave their sleepy agreement; Joey raised his head and met her eyes. "No exceptions, Tribbiani," she laughed.

Joey rolled his eyes, but she knew that he was amused. "Fine." He threw his arm around Rachel so he could give Phoebe's chin a soft bump with his knuckles. "You did good today, Buffay."

If anyone else had said it, Phoebe would have denied it. But Joey's whole body language screamed his sincerity, and he wasn't that good an actor. 

Phoebe beamed back at him. "Thanks."

 

The End  
21/12/11


End file.
